


Wings

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There were a lot of misconceptions about angels and many of Chuck’s whisky bottles had met an untimely end because fans sent him things." Chuck discusses the factual discrepancies regarding angel wings, Sam grooms Castiel in a completely platonic way and Dean is upset about his cheeseburger. A domestic look at what's normal for Sam and Dean (and Castiel) and a refreshing look at how Chuck handles it all. Completely canonical, sadly enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings

* * *

  
         Chuck knew a lot about pretty much everything important; he didn’t know the square root of pi or how to perform open heart surgery, but he knew that a Wendigo could run forty-seven point five miles per hour and Dean couldn’t. He knew that Sam smuggled a tattered copy of  _Little Woman_  under the sink in every motel they stayed at because he liked to read on the toilet. He knew it took Dean thirteen minutes to shower but it took Sam twenty because he liked to stand under the water and think about things. He knew how to kill a werewolf, where to find the world’s best cherry pie and (courtesy of Dean) he knew exactly just how bendy a gymnast became after six shots of Tequila.

  
         Chuck also knew a lot about angels.  
  
         There were a lot of misconceptions about angels and many of Chuck’s whisky bottles had met an untimely end because fans  _sent him things_. Things he didn’t want to read, or see or think about in any way, shape or form. The first few fan stories he had received starring Castiel were a factual nightmare, never mind the unlikely and multiple scenarios of his… devirgining. Of course, Chuck was used to fan submissions but that didn’t mean he was happy about it.  
  
         Unfortunately Chuck was a bit of a (closet) literary narcissist which made it nearly impossible  _not_ to read what came through the mail slot. In truth he really liked Sam, Dean and even though Castiel was a little standoffish, he liked him too. That’s why every time he found something glaringly and obviously  _wrong_ with a story, it was like being slapped.  
  
         Halos, for example- they didn’t exist. No angel trooped around Heaven like a Precious Moments figurine in a white nighty. If Chuck had a shiny dime for every story he’d been sent about Castiel and his  _halo_ , he’d at least have enough for the industrial sized Tylenol bottle he’d need after reading them all.  
  
         Then, there was the wing thing.  
  
         An angel’s wings weren’t meant for flying, for one. They were more like… shields, or maybe parachutes. Chuck found it hard to describe. He had written quite a few of Castiel’s fights but always left out the mechanical details. The audience never knew that Castiel’s sense of equilibrium relied entirely on counterbalance or that he moved so quickly he created his own air-drag which prevented him overstepping himself. Castiel depended on the illusion of poise when really it was method: wings versatile enough to go from sunshade to umbrella in a fraction of a millisecond- it was like having a Swiss Army appendage.  
  
         And another thing; Castiel’s wings weren’t black; they were brown with white bits.  
  
         The thunder-and-lightening shadow theatre in the barn? Parlor tricks. A little  _ooh-ahh_ to buck up enrollment. Castiel’s wings were not made of shadows; they weren’t molded from God’s smoldering wrath, they were just plain old blood and bone. It was part of why Castiel didn’t advertise that he could show them to people- it was risky, but also a little embarrassing if you thought about it: less fantastic than advertised. Chuck compared it to walking around in your underwear. Sure, you might do it in your own house but you wouldn’t want to do it at say, the supermarket.  
  
         Factually speaking an angel’s wings are made up of heavy not hollow flight bones and contain a humerus two-and-a-half times the relative length of a bird’s. They are connected at the scapula by a free-rotating joint called the dextraorbital palate, which is controlled by the iron-hard subdominal aerial-deltoid muscles. At the base between the shoulder blades is a type of Uropygial gland which produces heavy, self-cleaning oil that smells exactly like burnt ash and a little like bacon fat.  
  
         This was one of the many reasons Chuck couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of wing kinks; feathers weren’t sexy. Most of an angel’s feathers had brittle, pokey stalks and the rest were situated close to the body, folded like an armpit. Besides that, all the fibrous filaments were tight-knit, absorbent and easily tangled, slicked down with nature’s equivalent of kitchen lard.  
  
         In his living room Chuck set down the transcript he had been reading (Sex pollen, _again_ ) and pinched the bridge of his nose. He already felt the faint twinge of a familiar headache in the back of his mind so he emptied his tumbler of whisky, poured another half-glass, hesitated and then topped it up. Cracking his knuckles he started to type because someone had to do it and he was the poor schmuck who’d gotten stuck with the job.  
  


~~~

  
  
         Sam had left the  _motel du jour_  earlier to get some food and had dropped Dean off at the bar on the way, partly because he was tired of listening to him and partly because if he had to keep on listening he was going to have to kill him. The Winchester’s was a balanced sort of brotherly love; they didn’t always smother one another with affection but usually they wanted to smother one another with a pillow. In the end, Sam had an evening to himself and Dean had an evening with something leggy and that was just how it worked best for everyone involved.  
  
         As Sam turned the key in the lock he saw Castiel before he  _noticed_ him.  
  
         “Hey Cas- GAH!” Sam scrunched up his eyes and turned around to face the door. His takeaway bag hit the linoleum with a wet thud.  
  
         “Don’t be dramatic.” Castiel said levelly.  
  
         Sam peeled on eye open suspiciously. Castiel was sitting topless in the middle of the floor, his left wing curled around to his front and he was meticulously arranging each individual feather, row by row. His wingspan was enormous, brown and white and sheeny-soft. Sam turned his head because he had the feeling he was staring.  
  
         “I thought your true form was… you know, umm- brighter?”  
  
         “Yes, well. I’d appreciate your personal discretion.” Cas seemed to sway slightly, then rallied.  
  
         Sam raised an eyebrow, “Uh, yeah- sure… Have you been drinking?”  
  
         “No.”  
  
         Sam raised his eyebrow higher.  
  
         Castiel sighed, “I met a nice man in a warehouse in Amsterdam and we talked intimately about knowing God, then we journeyed towards self-enlightenment together.”  
  
         “You’re  _high_?”  
  
         “I believe that is the term, yes. I am very high.”  
  
         “And you’re doing what exactly…” Sam gestured towards his wings, trying not to look.  
  
         “Grooming.”  
  
         “Since when do you, uh- groom.” Sam took his dinner out of the bag and set it on the table.  
  
         “I have many private habits. You never asked.”  
  
         “I guess it never occurred to me. I got something for Dean for later but you can eat it if-”  _You have the munchies_ , Sam finished in his head.  
  
         “No. I disburdened a stateside diner earlier, I’m fine.”  
  
         “Ah.”  
  
         There were a few minutes of awkward silence and the Sam cleared his throat.  
  
         “Yes?” Castiel asked.  
  
         “Is there any reason why you don’t, you know- just use your powers to put them how you want?”  
  
         “Because I enjoy this very much.”  
  
         Sam paled, “ _Dude_!”  
  
         Castiel rolled his eyes at Sam’s horrified expression. “Not everything is conclusively sexual, Sam. Eat your salad.”  
  
         Sam sat down abruptly and popped the lid on his dinner. Carefully avoiding watching Castiel he speared a piece of chicken, then a stray pepper and a few errant pieces of lettuce. No matter how loudly he chewed he could still hear the rustling of feathers from across the room, which he found a little embarrassing for reasons he didn’t want to touch with a twenty foot pole.  
  
         He knew that Castiel was an angel, but it just wasn’t what he had expected. Dean had described what he had seen in the barn using words like ‘damn’ and ‘huge’ and also ‘bitch-ass gigantic’. He had said Castiel’s wings were more like shadows or something. Having Castiel sitting meditatively on the carpet combing  _actual_ wings was far outside Sam’s conceptual playbook of okay angel habits.  
  
         It was too domestic for starters.  
  
         Sam argued with himself that he was being a bit narrow-minded. It wasn’t like they hadn’t told Castiel a million and one times to make himself welcome, or to get comfortable but it was just surprising that he had finally listened. It was more off-putting because suddenly he was so comfortable he’d let his hair down- well,  _wings out_  and Sam wasn’t sure if he should make a big deal about it or let it slide, maybe pick up a congratulatory card. He wasn’t sure if Hallmark mark could handle the sentiment but really, he wished Dean was home.  
  
         Dean had a way with tension, he didn’t so much ease it as completely obliterate it. In a way it was part of his patent-pending brand of obnoxious charm. When Dean was around he didn’t ignore the elephant in the room, he fed it peanuts.  
  
         “Why do you keep reaching behind your back?”  
  
         “Oil glands.”  
  
         “Oh.” Sam speared another piece of chicken. “Like a duck’s?”  
  
         Castiel swung his head around and gave Sam a  _look_.  
  
         “I mean- just… With the oil thing. You have- yours are much nicer.” Sam finished lamely.  
  
         “There are often times you shouldn’t talk. I believe this is one of those times.”  
  
         “Sorry, I’ll just finish up here and… I’ll be quiet now.”  
  
         Castiel ignored him and returned to what he was doing; finishing his left wing he shook it out and then started on the right. It seemed that he was having more difficulty curving it around the front of his body. Sam watched him struggle for a minute and then cleared his throat.  
  
         “Are you... okay?”  
  
         “Yes. It is more difficult to groom this side.”  
  
         “Why?”  
  
         Castiel sighed, Sam was irritating. “It was damaged.”  
  
         “I thought you could heal yourself.”  
  
         “When I raised your brother from the pit the journey back was... unpleasant.”  
  
         “Oh.” Sam felt . “I’m sorry about that.”  
  
         “Yes, I’m sure you are very apologetic.” Castiel turned back to his task.  
  
         After a moment of pained silence Sam ventured, “Did you- uh, need a hand?”  
  
         “You want to  _groom_ me?” Castiel stared at him incredulously.  
  
         “Well  _no_ \- I mean yes, uh I mean, just if you... You know, are having trouble.” Sam’s stared into his salad, thankful it couldn’t stare back.  
  
         “Don’t strain yourself on my account.” Castiel said dryly.  
  
         “No, it’s okay. Let me help. It’s the least I can do- you know, for Dean.”  
  
         “Ah.”  
  
         Sam washed his hands in the leaky motel sink and then sat down awkwardly on the carpet.  
  
         “So...”  
  
         “So?”  
  
         “So, what do I need to do?”  
  
         “Straiten the feathers near the back, if they seem drier or more brittle than the others they need to be oiled.”  
  
         “And you’re oil- uh,  _glands_ are...”  
  
         “At the wing base, where they appear to join with my vessel.”  
  
         “Okay and I just...”  
  
         “Gently press against them.”  
  
         “Oh.” Sam grew six shades darker but stopped asking questions.  
  
         Despite Sam’s ingrained reservation, angels actually spent a lot of time grooming one another. It was a social behavior: less a tea and chat and more braiding one another’s hair and talking about boys. Sam didn’t know that angels didn’t groom angels from other garrisons or that it was a more selective habit, shared amongst close friends or the angelic equivalent of family groups.  
  
         Technically (and unbeknownst to Sam) Castiel considered them brothers.  
  
         “How do these get so tangled?”  
  
         “Use.”  
  
         “I know but... Just, seriously.”  
  
         Sam found that grooming Castiel was actually very relaxing. He lined up all the feathers in neat little rows and after he got over the  _yech_ -factor of touching someone’s glandular _anything_ , it wasn’t that bad. In fact, most of Castiel’s feathers were already shiny and well-lubricated. It was easy to tell which ones needed extra care because they were a duller brown and surveying his handiwork, Sam found it oddly satisfying. After ten minutes he finished a sizeable section and started on another.  
  
         Castiel’s stomach rumbled.  
  
         “You sure you don’t want Dean’s dinner?”  
  
         “What is it?”  
  
         “Triple cheeseburger with fries.”  
  
         The subtle nuances of Castiel’s buzz wearing off and he did find himself impulsively hungry. Of course he didn’t actually  _need_ to eat- but he very much wanted to anyway.  
  
         “I suspect he would be upset by that.”  
  
         “Yeah well, he’s out chasing skirts so whatever, right?” Sam got up, went to the kitchen and came back with luke-warm takeout.  
  
         “Thank-you.”  
  
         “Anytime I can pull a dick-move on Dean, I’m in.” Settling back down Sam found himself asking, “Want me to do the front while you eat?”  
  
         “If you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
         As Castiel took his first big bite the motel door flew open and Dean stumbled in smelling like a distillery, took one look at Sam’s guilty expression and Castiel’s unapologetic side glance and swore.  
  
         “Cas are you  _naked_?”  
  
         “Not entirely.”  
  
         Dean’s eyes bulged, “ _And is that my burger?!_ ”  
  
         “Prior to my eating it, yes.”  
  
         “Sammy!” Dean howled, “Sammy, he’s eating my burger!”  
  
         Sam shrugged, “You took awhile.”  
  
         “ _Son of a bitch_!”  
  
         Sam wasn’t entire sure what to do, he could feel the tops of his ears sizzling under Dean’s gaze and knew that the only way he’d ever roll out of it alive was to stay cool. Sam went back to combing out Castiel’s feathers as if it was the most normal thing in the universe.  
  
         “So, is this your new thing? I don’t have to put an announcement in the paper or organize a bar mitzvah or something, do I?”  
  
         “Don’t be a jerk, Dean.”  
  
         “Hey, hey!” Dean held up his hands, “I’m just saying you and naked-Jay here are damn precious.”  
  
         “This is a very good burger.” Castiel commented between mouthfuls, “I very much enjoy this taste sensation.”  
  
         Sam snorted at Dean’s forlorn expression.  
  
         “I should sigil the hell out of you.”  
  
         “Dean...”  
  
“Oh come on- I wouldn’t actually do it.”  
  
         “The cheese has congealed and yet...” Castiel chewed, “It’s still texturally pleasing.”  
  
         “Sammy!”  
  
         “Dean.”  
  
         “Oh come off it. Why are you fluffing him up, anyway?”  
  
         “It’s just a thing... that we do. Sometimes.”  
  
         “Actually, this is the first time Sam has participated in my grooming. He is very thorough and despite-" Castiel paused to swallow, "-his unusually large hands, his touch is very gentle.”  
  
         Sam paled.  
  
         Dean burst out laughing.  
  


~~~

  
  
         Chuck stopped typing.  
  
         The audience didn’t need to know that Dean would bring up that same cheeseburger for three more days, incessantly and at every possible opportunity. He also didn’t tell them that two days after that in a small hardware store Dean would chase Sam around with a feather duster before winking at the cashier and telling her that Sam needed a good grooming. Castiel would roll his eyes approximately seventeen times because Dean would coin the phrase ‘wingrection’ and Sam would eventually buy Dean another burger.  
  
         Dean didn’t care that Castiel and Sam had had some bonding time, Castiel didn’t care if Dean cared or not and Sam was just Sam, awkward and well-meaning. The thing was, the fans always had to have sex and intrigue but Chuck knew there was more to the story. Between the lines was a family: it was dysfunctional and sometimes downright creepy, but it worked. So maybe Sam and Castiel’s interlude was rated PG-13 and Dean didn’t have a jealous breakdown, but that was okay. Sometimes the real story is the best story anyway.  
  
         But of course, Chuck still had a fanfiction to read.


End file.
